


We walk towards each other, but do not look

by thequeenofsong



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: After the mountain, Found Family, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Nilfgaard, Original Character(s), POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26078218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenofsong/pseuds/thequeenofsong
Summary: Post-mountain explosion. Jaskier goes to Cintra to look after Ciri since Geralt won't. Determined not be be the shit-shoveler Geralt labeled him, Jaskier decides to take Ciri as far North as possible. He will find the first witcher he can and convince them to take Ciri up to Kaer Morhen. In doing so, he narrowly avoids numerous meetings with Geralt trying to find his Child Surprise. (Comedy of errors style)Fate takes her job seriously, and has a soft spot for Geralt, which means she cannot decide whether to grant Geralt's wish to never se Jaskier again, or draw him toward his child surprise.Updates every 3 days unless life gets in the way. I am new to smut but I try my hardest and it will be here.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 182





	1. Decisions

Jaskier bumbled his way down the mountain without really seeing anything at all. He tripped a six times over debris and tree roots, skinning his knees and palms. Playing his lute would be painful until those healed. He didn’t think about it. He had collected his few belongings from Roach and then from the tavern’s back room when it struck him he didn’t really know where he wanted to go. He could go to Oxenfurt, they had invited him for a guest lecture enough times he might get some job at the university. 

He could be a professor. He had enough experience to debate some of his old masters. Geralt had let slip enough tidbits for him to have a unique perspective on some parts of the Continent’s history. He could seek out another adventurer to attach himself to, but it wouldn’t be worth it. He had gone and fallen in love with the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia.

He started off in the direction of Oxenfurt. He had enough coin to get food at the next village and he didn’t want to be there when Geralt made his way down mountain. He’d gained clarity enough to purloin a dagger on his way out of town. He knew bandits would target any lone traveler. He was more formally trained for noble duels, but he could fake competence long enough to run away from potential robbers. He hoped. Geralt had been more of a deterrent.

Geralt. How Dare He? Jaskier the shoveler of his shit? If anything, jaskier made it easier for him. Jaskier was the one who got them coin in villages that had no contracts. Jaskier was the one who convinced brothels Geralt wouldn’t murder their girls with sex. He was the one who saved up all winter in Oxenfurt to have extra coin when he met up with Geralt in the spring, to preserve the layer of fat the witcher always had coming down the mountain. Jaskier was the one who got Geralt his full fee when the Alderman wanted to short him. Geralt was the one to wish his voice away with the Jinn. Geralt was the one to fall into bed with Yennefer whenever he saw her. Geralt was the one rejecting his advances, flirting. Geralt was the growly one who made them less welcome at any inn or tavern willing to pay Jaskier to sing. Geralt was the one who chose the law of surprise in Cintra.

Wait, Cintra! Jaskier had returned incognito every year for the bardic competitions that celebrated the Princess’s birthday for years now. Calanthe must have forgotten his face by now, even if she hadn’t forgotten Geralt’s. He could get close to Geralt’s child surprise and make sure she was alright until Geralt came to claim her. He had a reputation down there for songs not about the white wolf, from his winters away from the witcher. The wouldnt have to sing about the man who broke his heart. 

At the next crossroads he turned south. 


	2. Travel breed strange friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier travels slowly south and runs into kind strangers.

Chapter 2

It would take him weeks, maybe even more than a month, to get to Cintra. Although the path was free from bandits and the taverns generous so far, his pace was much slower than he would have liked. For one, he couldn’t find a decent horse for sale. He had never thought of getting a horse traveling with Geralt for budget reasons, but speeding up his travel now outweighed the costs of feeding and caring for a horse. Going from Caingorn in the north all the way to Cintra on foot was taking its toll on him, even though he was used to walking alongside Geralt. At least then Roach could carry supplies. He had to balance carrying decent supplies, his lute and keeping his packs light enough for him to carry from village to village. It still took over a week to get to a coastal town in southern Kovir that had boats to take him past Redania. 

After an uneventful journey that reminded Jaskier just how much he hated sea travel, they docked in Novigrad. Still in Redania, but he had resources and contacts in nearby Oxenfurt he could use to get further south. He ransacked his traveling bards lodgings, which all graduates of his school reserved at the college for a few years after graduating. 

Bare bones though they were, he still managed to keep a fair amount of clothing here, and the college did a fair job preserving privacy and preventing theft, probably due to the few higher ranking students like Jaskier himself. He was able to sell some old doublets for spare coin, and perform in some of the seedier inns where he could count on not running into anyone he knew. 

Damn, still not enough for a horse and supplies. He left Oxenfurt on foot. 

  
  


As he passed the second farm outside a decent sized village with some very nice young men in need of company,a cry startled him out of his reverie of self pity. A child streaked towards him on a horse. She screamed like a banshee, which Jaskier had actually heard before. He had only seconds before the horse would be on him. 

“Let go!” he screamed, “I’ll catch you!” He had no idea if she heard him, but he held out his hands hoping she would understand the gesture. It might not have mattered because as she approached Jaskier, the girl lost her frantic grip on the horse’s mane and she slipped to the side. Jaskier ran towards the horse as it approached him and managed to break the child’s fall as she fell from the horse. They both went tumbling down the hill ass over teacup and landed with Jaskier winded and the girl clinging to him for dear life. 

As the horse went sprinting off to Melitele knows where, the girl’s father came over at a run, favoring one leg. The child cried into his shoulder and clung for dear life. Jaskier could feel bruises welling up from the tumble down the hill and the sharp knees and elbows attached to his cargo.

“Thank you! I couldn’t control him, he saw a snake and just took off!” the girl cried right into his ear. Jaskier flinched away from her high pitched sobs and tried to get them vertical as the limping man drew closer. 

“Are you alright?” He asked when he was close enough not to have to yell. “I tried… I couldn’t…” He gestured to his leg, which Jaskier could see now was wooden below the knee.

“I think we’re in one piece.” He said, letting the girl cling to him even once they were upright. She was better dressed than her carer was, and cleaner. Probably not his daughter then. “Are you alright?” He asked her, looking down.

“She loosened her death grip on him and wiped tears from her eyes on a handkerchief pulled from her sleeve. Definitely a rich family then. Maybe Jaskier could get a bed for the night in their house. “Yes, I, I think so.” she said, hiccoughing. She looked to the limping man, who had finally fully reached them. “I’m sorry Phillip, I didn’t see the snake, I thought he was startling over nothing.” she went to cling to him now. 

Phillip looked down at her, relieved to see her well. “So long as you’re alright all is forgiven, miss.” Looking up at Jaskier he said, “Will you come to the lord’s house with us sir? I am sure he will want to reward you for saving his daughter.”

Since he wasn’t stupid, Jaskier asked, “Who is your lord? I seem to have lost track of whose land I am traveling.” He had fallen into many a noble’s bed over the years, and it was better to know early on if there was a chance this particular one would take offence to seeing his face again.

“Lord Joren of Brugge, but father and I are only here to visit King Foltest of Vizima. Said the young girl. Jaskier had never heard of him. 

“I would be honored to meet your lord father and ensure you get back to him safely.” Jaskier said with a flourish. “Will you escort me, my lady?” She giggled, color coming back to her pale face. “I don’t believe I caught your name, miss.”

“Arreni. And yours?”

“I am Jaskier the bard, late of Oxenfurt. It is truly an honor to meet you.”

“Jaskier, I’ve heard of you! You write songs about the witchers!” She bounced on her heels as she walked slightly ahead of him. Phillip brought up the rear. As Jaskier fielded question after question about witchers and traveling and being a bard, they came upon first a stable and fenced yard, where Phillip finds a stable boy to organize a party to go after the runaway horse, and then a medium sized manor house. 

Soon, Jaskier was being announced with Arreni and entered a large sitting room where a man he assumed was Lord Joren sat with a book and several other men and women of varying degrees of nobility. None of them were familiar to Jaskier, thank all the gods. Arreni ran to her father and immediately started telling him what had happened. Jaskier noticed she made much more of his involvement, though she emphasized it was her fault for not seeing the snake that had startled the horse. 

Lord Joren hauled her up on his lap and looked sternly down at his daughter. “As much as I am glad you are alright, I think you’ll need to keep to the tamer mares inside the fence for at least a week. And someone else on horseback as well.” he glanced over to Phillip, “Is that understood stablemaster?”

Phillip bowed, with a small smile. His reply was almost drowned out by Arreni’s protests.

“I understand my lord.”

“And to the young hero,” Lord Joren said, turning to Jaskier. “I need to thank you for preventing disaster it seems. What is your name? Where are you headed.” He seemed like a decent type of noble, but Jaskier bowed deep and played it humble. 

“I did as anyone would, my lord. I am Jaskier the Bard and I am headed to Cintra to meet with an old school friend at court.”

Joren frowned but before he could speak his daughter interrupted. “Jaskier is the bard that wrote all those songs about witchers papa. He sang a bit for me as we came back to the manor.”

Her father’s eyebrows rose, “Well then, saved by a celebrity! What luck you have youngling.” he hefted Arreni off his lap and stood with her, holding her hand. “What reward can we give such a traveler then?” he seemed to be asking his daughter, and Jaskier prayed it wouldn’t be something unreasonable he would have to turn down. All he really wanted was a night in comfort and a few solid meals before continuing to Cintra.

“Are you really headed to Cintra?”Arreni asked him, nose wrinkled in concentration.

“Yes my lady.” Jaskier said. “I have an old school friend who has arranged for me to perform for a season or two at the palace.” It was a decent story he thought. And it’s not like he could tell the truth of why he was going to Cintra.

“I think he needs a rest and a horse then father.” She determined, looking seriously up at Lord Joren. Jaskier sucked in a breath, that was better than he expected. Exactly what he needed actually. But would the lord grant it?

“I agree with your assessment, Arreni.” Joren said. “Phillip, I think the bay mare called Daisy would serve this bard well to get him to Cintra.”

Jaskier knew what came next. He was expected to protest the reward, and accept only the lodging for the night. It hurt him to do so, but he didn’t want the man’s people after him if he took something the man truly wasn’t willing to part with. “My lord I …” Joren held up a hand.

“No, I insist. You will eat with Arreni and I tonight and take the horse tomorrow after you have rested.” He grew serious. “Arreni is my only child, and you saved her life today. I would see you safely to your own destination.” Jaskier bowed, stunned.

At dinner, he retold stories he had recounted to Arreni earlier, and found himself liking these two strange nobles. They weren’t perhaps as odd as him, but he would take any kindness thrown his way. Towards the end of the meal, as Arreni started yawning over dessert, he noticed Lord Joren glancing at him with intent. Well, he wouldn’t say no to some company tonight. And Joren was quite attractive. It had become obvious over dinner that Arreni’s mother was no longer living, and there was no step mother in the offing. If he played this right, he might even be welcome in this man’s court again in the future. He returned the glances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Jaskier/Joren Smut with very very little plot. I split it here to make it easy to skip if that isn't your thing.


	3. A strangers bed provides strange comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier joins the young lord in bed. no plot. This took me far to long to write, but in my defense I was in the middle of moving apartments and sorting my new job. The rest of the chapters should be more reliable at every 3 days.

Chapter 3

Joren needed very little encouragement from Jaskier. Some fluttered eyelashes here, a wink there, deeply veiled suggestions wormed into the conversation were returned in the form of increasingly hot glances from the lord. He definitely wasn’t bad looking. Probably in his late thirties, with a streak of grey in dark brown hair. He was only slightly shorter than Jaskier but much stockier, he’d most likely earned his title in the army, and recently, becasue Jaskier had never heard of his family before. Over the course of dinner, Jaskier determined quite a few things. Most importantly, he would definitely have to be in charge tonight. Joren flirted in the same way many other nobles did when they started looking for male company. No finesse.

He would also probably be on the receiving end, and if he was going to ride a horse away from here tomorrow he’d need to be careful with the prep.

He was obsessing. He knew that. But it had been so long since he had had a man. He had been consumed with Geralt’s dismissal since leaving him, and for a few months before that he had been solely focused on figuring out if he had a chance with the witcher. He had abstained from most offers in those months to show the witcher he was capable of being loyal, and to spend more time getting him used to being touched and cared for.

He owed Geralt no more loyalty now. He’d been shown the door and had it closed and locked behind him. It was enough that he was going to look after the Princess child surprise, since he had been part of that debacle. 

He was going to give this noble the best fucking of his life and take his pleasure in return.

Joren sent his daughter to bed early, citing her accident and her wide yawns even though she had kept up a stream of chatter that thankfully distracted her from the tension between her father and her rescuer. Joren saw her to bed himself and invited Jaskier to wait in a private parlor. He busied himself looking at the books. When he heard footsteps in the hall, he draped himself artfully on a chair with a book he’d read before. Pretending to be engrossed, he ignored the sound of the door opening.

“An interesting choice for light reading.” Joren said. Jaskier looked up, a smile that promised more on his face. “The poet is a favorite of mine. When I see his work I try to make time for him.”

“‘In a strange house/ a strange bed/ in a strange town/ a very strange me/ is waiting for you.’” Joren quoted, leaning over Jaskier in the chair. “Accurate for this particular moment, don’t you think?”

“Is there someone waiting in your bed? I’d hate to keep you from them.” Jaskier purred teasingly, tilting his head back to get a proper look at his host. Joren smirked, leaning closer. 

“I think I’ll have to make do with the very strange man waiting in my chair. He bravely rescued someone dear to me today, and I would very much like to spend my night showing him my gratitude.” Joren looked for welcome in Jaskier’s eyes and, finding it, closed the distance between them and kissed his lips upside down.

As pleasant as his mouth was upside down, Jaskier wanted to try it properly, so reached up to guide Joren around to kiss properly. That way, Joren’s mouth is even better. Jaskier was already stirring in his trousers. Breaking the kiss, Joren panted, “This might be the time to move to that strange bed.” Jaskier nodded and used his arm on Joren’s shoulder to lever himself up to standing. Joren’s hand remained low on Jaskier’s lower back. All the way back to his bedchamber. 

“So now is when I have to ask,” Jaskier said as they entered the bedroom, “just how much experience you have with men.”

“More than you might think.” Joren said. Pushing Jaskier back onto the bed, landing atop him. “I prefer men on the whole.” They kissed for long moments and lost both their shirts before he pulled back and seriously searched Jaskier’s eyes. “Swear to me that whatever we do here will remain in this room.”

Jaskier swore. “I never sing or tell of bedroom exploits unless the parties involved agree.”

“Arreni isn’t my daughter. She’s Phillip’s.” Joren played with Jaskier’s hair, ignoring his wide eyes and stuttered questioning noises. “I have precisely no taste for women, and my late wife was already in love with her father’s stablehand, Phillip. I took him into my service and she took him to her bed. It was all agreed. We look similar enough that no one would doubt from a child’s looks, and we were free to pursue our own interests. She was a good friend.” He paused. “So don’t think I don’t know what to do with a man, bard.” he ground down on Jaskier, reviving both their arousals. 

Jaskier gladly took the out, bypassing all the other information to focus on Joren’s erection. “I notice you’re on top right now, is that where this evening is headed? I have no objections, provided you’re dedicated to proving you know what you’re doing.”

“I had considered it,” Joren said, grinding down, “and I do so love taking men apart with my fingers and cock. But I have also heard of your skill. Jaskier the bard late of Oxenfurt. And since you are headed to Cintra on a horse tomorrow, I am more than willing to let you show me a good time tonight. I heard of the night you gave one of the sons of Roggeven. Show me that prowess.”

“I am more than willing to do so.” Jaskier said, seizing Joren’s waist and rolling them over. He quickly got rid of the nobe’s pants and wrapped a hand around his length. “Where is your oil?” Joren moaned and vaguely motioned toward a table close to the bed but not in arms reach. “Touch yourself and get on hands and knees.” 

Joren obeyed as Jaskier moved for the oil. His cock jumped as he moved back to the bed and saw the lord with shoulders pressed to the bed, head turned to put eyes on him and hands playing with cock and ass. Jaskier gave him a filthy smirk and gave him a show, taking off his trousers slowly, noting how Joren’s eyes roved appreciatively all around his body before widening at the sight of Jaskier’s erection.

“I think I see now what Roggeven was talking about.” He breathed, “THis will be fun indeed.” Jaskier knew he was impressively sized, almost as big as his witc- Geralt. He threw aside those thoughts by swatting the upturned backside lightly. “Hands off.”

“Make me.” Joren challenged. Jaskier pounced. He threw the man over on his back, and held Joren’s hands up over his head. “Keep your hands here, I'll tie them if I have to.”

He obeyed and Jaskier got to his knees on the bed. Dousing his fingers in oil, Jaskier kissed down Joren’s chest and stomach to the cleft of his ass. From there, his fingers took over and his mouth moved up to Joren’s ear to whisper the filthiest things that came to mind. 

With the first finger Jaskier found his prostate and the man was writhing, the second got him to whimper. Jaskier moved down to suck at the man’s cock, paying attention to the balls. The third had him begging and by the time Jaskier had pulled his fingers out to grease himself, Joren’s chest was heaving and his cock drooling. 

“Your hands truly live up to legend.” Joren said, in a moment of clarity as Jaskier withdrew to prep himself. “I look forward to seeing what your cock can do.”

Jaskier, trusting his prep and the truly luxurious oil that Joren stocked in his nightstand, teased the head of his cock against Joren’s ass before slamming in all at once. Joren yelled, cock jerking and his arms came up to cling harder to Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier pulled out as slowly as he could, rocking back in equally slowly, eyes locked on Joren’s face looking for pain. 

He found none. Joren babbled, his hands finally moved to rub Jaskier’s sides and as Jaskier sped up he slid one hand down to his cock and the other up to the bard’s hair, pulling him in for a clashing sort of kiss that was more biting lips than real kissing. 

Suddenly Joren seized, back bowing up as he came. Jaskier didn’t last much beyond that, stilling when fully inside the other man and dropping his head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He pulsed for ages, hips making abortive little thrusts to prolong the pleasure.

“Mmmmm” Joren sighed, “That was the best I’ve had in ages. Will you stay here tonight, with me?” He reached into his bedside table to grab a rag and clean them up.

Jaskier moved up to kiss him properly, “Of course. I imagine you have the most comfortable bed in the place, I’d be a fool to turn down such finery. Besides, I'd hardly add to my considerable reputation if I left all my lovers in the lurch. Joren laughed and Jaskier tucked himself into the man’s side. He was slightly shorter than Jaskier, but a good size for a comfortable cuddle.

  
  


Poetry from James Baldwin “Munich Winters, 1973” written for a male lover.


	4. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier almost makes it to Cintra with Daisy the horse, but one night is interrupted by a strange witcher high on potions.

Chapter 4

Joren and Arreni saw him off the next morning after breakfast. Arreni and the rest of the household didn’t blink an eye when Jaskier and Joren arrived for breakfast together, or when Joren casually mentioned enjoying Jaskier’s company the night before. Obviously this was a household used to their lord’s preferences.

Daisy the horse turned out to be a sweet thing with beautiful brown sleepy eyes. She was hardy though, and may not have had Roach’s experience in life on the go, but she had good stamina. Good enough that Jaskier could ride a few hours each day, and keep his packs on her for the rest. His pace increased exponentially, even if the extra expense of feeding her cut into his strained finances. Luckily, Philip had provided tack and brushes and even a note with some of her favorite treats and quirks.

He saw the odd Cintran patrol on the road once he crossed the border, always eager for a wandering bard. They shared their food and gossip for his music and news from the north. Through them, he learned of the growing Nilfgaardian threat and the unrest among the army and the masses. He conserved his money as he had never done before so he could buy decent court clothes when he got close. If he couldn’t get in being Jaskier the bard, he would have to try being Julian the Viscount of Lettenhove.

Jaskier just had to hope no one would tell his family he had resurfaced. Lettenhove wasn’t close enough to Cintra physically or politically for them to have any hold over him, but he didn’t like them knowing where he was. Jaskier the bard would be more covert anyway. Cirilla might even remember him from the times he performed at her birthday celebrations. 

Out of respect for his budget, he played at every tavern and celebration that would pay, and camped more than he would have liked. Daisy was a noble’s horse and wasn’t exactly used to sleeping in the rough, but the brave girl soldiered through and Jaskier kept her brushed and well sheltered as he could. While he brushed her, he talked to her, venting about Geralt and sorceresses that couldn’t properly process emotion and took it out on poor bards that happened to be there in the aftermath.

One day in particular, far from the nearest village and a few days from the Cintran border he stopped at the ruins of some old cabin and made his camp in back of it, hidden from the road and using the remaining walls as a windbreak. He got Daisy settled and grazing before setting up his part of the camp. A small fire boiled some water for a quick wash and tea of raspberry leaves and mint he found in what must have been the garden of the cabin. He’d just thrown together a simple stew when the hair on the back of his neck prickled. He didn’t have a witcher’s senses but he had traveled with one long enough to be suspicious when things got too quiet. His only real weapons, a long knife and a crossbow (unloaded, fuck), were too far away to get easily, but there was a decent sized branch in the fire he could brandish or throw as a distraction.

Across the campfire, a figure dropped from the trees. Even before Jaskier saw his eyes he knew it had to be a witcher. No unmutated man could walk so silently or with such confidence. 

“Are you looking for something?” he asked calmly. The stranger didn’t reply, but stalked toward Jaskier’s bags and started rifling through one of them.

Jaskier stood, grabbed that flaming branch and started toward him. “I don’t know who you think you are, but those bags are mine and you will leave them alone!” He had no chance against a witcher, but dammit he couldn’t afford to have his supplies pillaged.

The thief turned around and Jaskier got his first good look at his face. Black eyes were framed by black veins and a scratched up face. Blood ran down from a nasty looking cut on his hairline. A snarl curled his lips and exaggerated a scar running through his eye. He had a number of potions in his system then.

“I can help you, witcher, but you have to leave my things alone.” He lunged, pinning Jaskier against the old wall of the cabin. His head knocked painfully against the rotten wood and stone of the remaining wall. 

“I can smell him on your packs,” the witcher snarled. “What the fuck did you do with Geralt?” Jaskier choked in the hold the witcher had on him and panicked. There was something in his packs that this man wanted. He was high on potions, wounded and wild-eyed. He didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, the strange witcher’s eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed forward into the bard. They slid down the wall and Jaskier maneuvered himself on top of them both. 

“Alright then.” Jaskier grumbled. He checked for a pulse, it was too fast for a witcher. The man was also visibly malnourished, though only in a way witchers could be. Bulging muscles remained, but bones peaked through and the face was gaunt. Jaskier rolled the large man off him and got him on his back. A quick search of the witcher’s pockets didn’t turn up any potions Jaskier recognized as healing, so instead he rolled the man to his side, propped him up on some packs and waved some burning horse hair from Daisy’s brush under his nose. The witcher heaved, still unconscious, purging what was left of the potions in his stomach. 

Jaskier made a face at the mess, at least he’d had the good sense to point him away from the fire and his bedroll. Once the vomiting stopped, Jaskier checked his breathing and his pulse. Both had improved, but his face was still veiny and sallow. 

Sighing, he ran back to his fire and rescued his stew. He would eat and keep watch until the witcher woke, hopefully more lucid and less potentially stabby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read, if you see spelling or grammar stuff let me know and I'll fix it. Sorry for the long wait.


	5. The Scent of Happiness and Bitterness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strange witcher wakes up. Dinner is had, Jaskier makes an impression.

Chapter 5

It took over half a day for the man to wake. Jaskier debated leaving him, he’d cleaned out all the visible wounds and he was healing fine, the black veins retreated and left just the sallow skin behind. But everytime Jaskier thought of leaving, he heard Geralt accusing him all over again of being useless, attracting trouble everywhere he went. He’d save this witcher and prove he had some worth. He’d seen the wolf medallion around this man’s neck and knew this was one of Geralt’s school. He’d only heard a few stories, usually something like “my brother is better at signs” or “my brother fishes with bombs” and then no follow up.

Maybe, if the witcher was surprised enough, or grateful enough, he’d tell the story to his brothers that winter at Kaer Morhen, wherever that was. Geralt would hear how a bard saved his brother and wonder if it was Jaskier.

When the strange witcher did wake, it was suddenly. Jaskier had gone on a foraging mission in the old cabin’s ruined garden. He had a basket full of beets, potatoes, carrots and rhubarb that had survived the neglect. A hand grabbed his ankle as he passed behind the prone witcher and he fell, scattering vegetables everywhere. Once again, he was pinned by strong hands, this time with his face pushed into the ground and the strange witcher pressed along his back, keeping him down. 

“Who are you?” they both asked at the same time. The man on Jaskier’s back tightened the hand on the back of the bard’s neck. “Who are you?” he repeated, hoarse.

“The man that saved your life.” Jaskier said loudly. “Also, the man you’ve attacked twice now for no reason.”

The hand pinning him slackened, and the witcher heaved himself to his feet. Jaskier took some deep breaths and did the same. He met the other man’s eyes steadily, and he took pleasure in the surprise he found there. Most people flinched at the sight of yellow cat eyes. 

“What‘s your name?” the witcher asked, arms crossed and glaring.

“Jaskier, bard extraordinaire.” He replied, mirroring the pose and tossing his hair back. “Yours?”

“You’re Geralt’s bard? You?” He ignored the question and looked at Jaskier more intensely. “Is he nearby? I only got a hint of him on your bags last night. Is that a new Roach?” he jerked his head towards Daisy. 

“No.” Jaskier bit out. “We no longer travel together. He made it quite clear last time we spoke he didn’t need a travel companion. You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Lambert. I imagine Geralt’s mentioned me.” Jaskier shook his head. “Well, probably for the best, he wouldn’t have much nice to say anyway.” Lambert looked away, spotting the scattered produce. 

Jaskier said quickly, “I was about to cook off some of that for dinner, care to join me? You can tell me why you were searching through my packs last night and threw me into a wall when you stumbled in here.”

Lambert looked up, startled. “I need to find my things, left them in a cave before I went off after a Garkain that lived here. You’re lucky I finished it off before you got here, this old cabin was it’s territory and they’re ugly enough to petrify their victims before they suck them dry.” Jaskier shuddered but, intrigued, he said; “Grab your things then, I’ll start the food and you can repay me by telling me the story. Maybe it will be good enough for a song.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow, backing toward the treeline. “I’m not Geralt, bard, I don’t need a bard following me around singing everything I do.”

Jaskier tried to stifle a flinch and snapped, “I know, Geralt made that perfectly clear. Witchers need no one, especially not useless bards.” he bit his tongue and looked away, focussing on collecting the food on the ground back into its basket. This was Geralt’s brother, he probably didn’t appreciate harsh words about his witcher kin. There was a pause.

Startlingly, when Lambert spoke again his voice was soft. “He can be an ass, bard. I won’t deny it.” Louder he said. “I’ll be back in around an hour, think I have some cheese to add to dinner.”

By the time he got back, Lambert had washed and everything was cooked. Jaskier had also found time to boil the rhubarb leaves into a poisonous tea that he stored in and extra waterskin. Dinner was filling, Lambert ate the lion’s share after some prompting from Jaskier. “There’s more in the garden, and besides, you fought a monster yesterday.”

Lambert was a much better storyteller than his brother, but just as sticky about details. When the conversation turned to Jaskier’s songs about Geralt, Lambert had the same complaints about the artistic license that made them so catchy.

“Still,” He said as they finished the last of the food. “Pay’s better now that people sing those songs. Only five aldermen tried to short me or drive me out in the last few months, usually they all do.” 

“I’m glad they’ve done some good.” Jaskier said, preening a bit. “Especially since I won’t be singing them for a while.”

Lambert looked at him sharply. “What kind of fight did you two have that you’re just going to drop the White Wolf songs entirely?”

Jaskier hummed, “It’s not the fight, though I was mad enough to stop singing them for the first few villages after we parted ways. I’m headed to Cintra and Calanthe isn’t a particular fan of Geralt’s. I’m hoping to earn a place at the Cintran Court, or close to it. Toss a Coin won’t earn me any favors down there.”

“Calanthe.” Lambert scoffed. “I remember when she first took the throne. Bloodthirsty bitch wanted to ban witchers entirely and use her own soldiers to kill the beasts and monsters. That didn’t last long.”

“What happened?” Jaskier asked, intrigued.

“She went up against a Bruxa or some other vampire and nearly got herself gutted. Called for a couple Griffins after that.” The bard grimaced, he’d been with Geralt on several vampire hunts, none of them pretty. 

I definitely won’t be singing about vampires then. “ he decided out loud. The conversation lapsed into silence as Jaskier moved to bank the fire and they got themselves set to sleep.

In the very early morning light they shared some leftover potatoes from the night before and headed in opposite directions. As Jaskier was packing the last things on Daisy, Lambert sidled over, “Any messages for Geralt, bard? I’ll see him this winter if he doesn’t get himself killed before then.” 

Jaskier shook his head and chuckled. “He doesn’t want to hear from me, that I know.” He thought for a moment. “If he asks though, tell him where I’m headed.” Maybe that will make him come get his child of surprise, he thought privately. 

Lambert nodded and turned north as Jaskier turned south. 

As he walked away, Lambert puzzled over the bard. Geralt’s stories had painted him as a foppish, colorful noisemaker with some useful traits that kept Geralt from leaving him behind any given morning. Jaskier hadn’t displayed any of that energy dealing with him, though his response to being pinned (twice) by an angry witcher confirmed he had few to no survival instincts. He was funny, useful and decently good at wound care, judging from the bandages he’d woken up with.

Even hopped up on potions and smelling his brother on the bard’s packs, Lambert remembered feeling at ease with Jaskier. If he ever smelled another witcher on some human’s packs in the past it generally meant a dead witcher. Faint as the scent was, he’d been able to get a strange note of something like happiness from Geralt’s scent. It was old, but there.

And yet something had convinced Geralt to ditch the bard, or the bard to ditch Geralt. Jaskier’s few comments about not traveling with Geralt anymore implied Geralt had been the one to leave. His scent was definitely bitter whenever the conversation turned that direction. 

He’d have to convince Eskel to investigate with him this winter. Any chance to rile up the “ _ great _ White Wolf” could be turned to his advantage. Might even get him enough of a reaction to get the upper hand during training.

Stomach full and body more rested than he ever remembered after a hunt, Lambert broke into a loping run he could maintain for hours and headed towards the village that had hired him to go after the Garkain. Only a few months till winter and figuring out Geralt’s bard issue.


End file.
